


Miscommunications

by breathingfire



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Gets Existential, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, it's a bit more complicated than that but that's what it boils down to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 19:31:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15956018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathingfire/pseuds/breathingfire
Summary: Two days after the Apocalypse That Wasn't, Aziraphale decides they really need to have a talk.





	Miscommunications

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](https://enbyfox.tumblr.com/post/177030845185/what-aziraphale-means-by-the-arrangement-ive)
> 
> hey im american and i dont know shit about the ritz and only loosely have a grip on british slang so if its weird then ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Crowley found Aziraphale looking pensively out the window, holding his wine glass tightly. Crowley sat down and cleared his throat before Aziraphale so much as looked up at him. But when he did, he broke into a wide grin. “Thank you for coming, dear boy,” he said, reaching across the table to pat Crowley's hand, and Crowley stiffened. That was new, that casual touch.

The contact only lasted for a moment, though, before Aziraphale retracted his hand. Crowley cleared his throat again, trying to beat down the butterflies in his stomach. It hasn't happened in six thousand years, why does he still hope it will happen now? “When have I ever passed up dinner at the Ritz, angel?” he responded, giving his best attempt at an aloof smile while his chest clenched.

“With what happened a couple days ago, I worried things had changed between us.” Aziraphale gave a small smile in return.

Ah. So things hadn't changed. Of course they hadn't. If nothing else, they were creatures of habit, and apparently not even the almost-apocalypse can change that.

Well, Hell's torment  _ is _ eternal, and this oblivious angel beats out any of the best torturers Down There.

Before Crowley could respond, Aziraphale plunged onwards. “I've wanted to discuss what happened then, actually.” He took a small sip of wine, seemingly inviting a response.

All Crowley could think to say was, “You have?”

Aziraphale nodded, and lazily waved a hand, ensuring the other patrons and staff could no longer see or hear them. “I've been thinking about -- and I can't stop thinking about -- how we were ready to  _ die _ , Crowley. Not just discorporate, but die.” Aziraphale was holding his gaze intently. “Satan holds the power to destroy us completely, and we were just ready to accept that.”

Crowley started to sweat under that intense gaze. “But we had already discussed that an eternity of either Heaven or Hell would be rubbish.”

“Exactly,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward in his seat. “Our time on Earth is not guaranteed. We could still be recalled or smited completely for averting Armageddon. And there's no Afterlife for us, Crowley. We only have this one shot. Even if we're not punished for our disobedience, there's only two ways this can end, eventually: we will be separated for eternity, relegated to our separate Sides, or our existences snuffed out completely.”

Crowley was really starting to regret not calling over the sommelier. “This is darker conversation than I was expecting, angel.”

“What I'm trying to say is… I just -- I can't --” Aziraphale took a deep and rather unnecessary breath and closed his eyes briefly. “I wanted to wait for you to make the first move, to make sure you are comfortable. Patience is a Virtue, but to He- to  _ Somewhere _ with waiting, Crowley!” He took another deep breath to settle his outburst, even though nobody spared a glance in their direction. Meanwhile, Crowley's mind was in a tailspin.  _ First move? He couldn't mean… Of course he didn't, don't be daft. _

When Crowley got his thoughts back in order, Aziraphale was looking at him again. “I can't wait anymore,” Aziraphale said, “not when our future is so uncertain. Life is too short, even ours. So I just really need you to know… I love you. Not just Divine Love either, I'm…  _ in love _ with you.”

Aziraphale suddenly looked nervous as he quickly continued, “I-I don't expect you to say it back, or even feel the same way, but I j-”

He was cut off as suddenly Crowley leaned across the table and kissed him. If his mind was running in circles before, it's completely off-line now, and he was running entirely on instinct and base desires, which can be summed up in one word: Aziraphale. He was lost in the gentle radiant warmth of Aziraphale's lips, the heat of Aziraphale's short breaths against his cheeks, and the heady, almost overwhelmingly intoxicating aura of Aziraphale's being. It's what he wanted for centuries -- no,  _ millennia _ \-- and now that Crowley has it, it feels impossible to let go of.

But since his body was the thing in control, it decided it needed to stop and breathe before Crowley had enough wits about him to remember he didn't have to. But then he could see Aziraphale's face -- flushed, with pupils blown wide and hair a bit mussed. The sight kick-started the butterflies again, and this time he let them stay. It was a very pleasant feeling.

He was glad for the fact that no one was paying attention, because when he finally realized what had happened, he was practically lying across the table to kiss the angel senseless. He slowly let go of the now-crumpled tweed lapels and slunk back into his own seat. The perfect place settings were in disarray, but Crowley couldn't care less. He took in the sight that was a dazed angel.  _ His _ dazed angel.

The first truly coherent thought trickled out of his brain and he voiced it before he thought much further. “How long?”

The question seemed to snap Aziraphale out of his own trance. He blushed a bit, adorably. “Er. Well. I had, you know,  _ liked _ you for quite a long time. Since before the Arrangement, of course. But feelings hadn't gotten… intense until around the thirteenth century, I suppose.”

Crowley gaped at him, and almost lowered his sunglasses for emphasis. Almost. “ _ Thirteenth? _ You mean to tell me that I've been…  _ pining _ -” he practically spits the word “- after you for centuries, and we could've been kissing like that the entire time?” He buries his face in his arms on the table, if only to avoid looking at the angel's face. Nevertheless, he heard the smile in his next question.

“You pined after me?” It was quiet, but Crowley growled loudly. He wasn't about to repeat himself. In a fit of pettiness, he knocked his empty wine glass off the table, smiling softly when he heard it shatter. A passing waiter expertly stepped around the broken glass, unseeing.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chastised, but there wasn't much heat to it.

“You'll miracle it all back anyway,” the demon mumbled. With a thought, another patron stretched his legs and tripped an unsuspecting waitress, causing her to spill the beverages she was delivering all over his dining companion, glasses cracking as they hit the floor. The entire restaurant stared at the spectacle, the waitress flushing like mad and on the verge of tears. Now  _ that _ felt good. Er, bad.  _ Nice _ . It felt nice.

“You're being quite childish,” Aziraphale remarked, much more sternly.

Crowley sat up. “How do you know that was me? Could've been an accident.”

The angel narrowed his eyes. “You had that look on your face.”

“Look? I don't have any sort of look.”

“You do. You have an 'I've done evil and I'm quite proud of it’ look. It's pretty cute.” He had a pretty unangelic smirk on his face, the bastard.

Crowley sat back, crossed his arms and scowled. “Demons aren't cute.”

Aziraphale hummed and smiled in a way that said “but  _ you _ are, dear”. But he decided to be merciful and stop the teasing. “Instead of being upset over missed opportunities, how about we make out for lost time?”

Crowley almost choked. “It's make  _ up _ for lost time, angel.”

Aziraphale just winked at him.  _ Ridiculous _ angel. Apparently all he needed to loosen up was an almost-Armageddon. He stood up and Crowley rushed to follow suit. As predicted, Aziraphale waved, and the place settings corrected themselves, Crowley's wine glass whole on the table, Aziraphale's empty and clean. For good measure, he placed twenty quid in the tripped waitress's wallet for her to find later.

Some staff member will come across the table and wonder why it was marked occupied, when it's clearly pristine and empty, but it will be chalked up to human error. No one will be punished.

The demon took the angel's hand and they both grinned. They left the restaurant.


End file.
